


Pilgrimage

by wehdile



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Espionage, M/M, Mild Gore, Nanobots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehdile/pseuds/wehdile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaper carries out reconnaissance on the Shambali Temple and gains a few pearls of wisdom from a certain Omnic monk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilgrimage

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a passing thought and snowballed into a full fledged, multi-chapter fic before I reigned myself in to settle on a compact one-shot. Truth be told, I'm not even strongly attached to this pairing! But if no one else is gonna do it, I must be the hero this fandom needs. Take place prior to all the shorts but after the explosion that 'killed' Gabriel Reyes.
> 
> Enjoy. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

An icy wind howls in from the South, an assault endured by both ragged peaks of mountains and a sorely under dressed Reaper who stands ankle deep in snow seemingly unperturbed by the cold. Out here he doesn’t need to concentrate on maintaining form, allowing the constant disintegration of cells that curl off his skin like a mist, swarm of nanobots adding to the black cloud as they race to keep him together. A constant pull and tug of shifting skin plays out beneath his makeshift mask of ski goggles and thick scarf, portions of ivory skull exposed to the biting wind then covered in the same ragged inhale. Once upon a time it might have hurt, even incapacitated him. Now it serves as mere background noise for his thoughts, contemplation of his mission drawing to a close.

Reaper’s ‘pilgrimage’ to the Shambali Temple had been a mere ruse for his true objective: carrying out Talon’s convert reconnaissance of the last true refuge for Omnics and their sympathizers. He had played his part well, spelling out the sob story of a man caught in the crossfires of history, disfigured in a protest turned riot and struggling to reconcile his prior hate for Omnics in light of his mechanical prosthetics.

_Not an entirely a lie_ , he muses. While Dr. Ziegler’s stunt of resurrection brought back something more then Gabriel Reyes, the nanobots surging through his veins surely counted as prosthetics. After all, they were the only thing holding his human visage together.

Reaper scowls at the bleak landscape, turning away in disgust. Reminiscing about his old life was a waste of energy, a fruitless endeavor for someone he could never be. He stalks his way back to the temple, making a beeline for the room that has been his sanctuary from all the sentimental, spiritually charged garbage spewed by every damn Omnic. There’s relief in knowing he’ll be free of this place in a few days time, and he pulls open the door to his room with renewed purpose.

Soon he’ll be free to stalk the shadows once more, mowing down those who stand in his way and absorbing their much needed essence into his being. Hell, just the thought of being able to feed again makes him giddy despite how much he loathes his dependency on souls. These thoughts are what consume him as he begins to repack the meager belongings of ‘Gabriel the Pilgrim’ back into his tattered pack. So focused is he that Reaper fails to notice the soft knock on his open door, only looking up when the surge of electric ozone registers with the Swarm.

“May I enter?” Zenyatta’s distinct voice asks from the doorway. Reaper considers telling him to fuck off, but holds his tongue in favor of an uninterested shrug and noncommittal grunt.

The door swings shut behind Zenyatta who hovers besides Reaper’s bed. After a few seconds of silence, Reaper looks up expectantly and that seems to be the cue for Zenyatta to speak.

“Gabriel… There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Reaper says nothing, waits for the Omnic to continue with whatever the hell he wants.

“I was and am saddened you will be leaving us so soon.” Reaper’s attention snaps back to Zenyatta before he slowly puts down a spare change of clothes. Zenyatta continues unperturbed, fingers knit together in trepidation. “My pupil, Genji, has informed me of his suspicions that what you seek here is not reconciliation, but intel for more...nefarious purposes.”

“Those are steep accusations,” Reaper retorts. “Does he have any proof?”

He’s thankful these stupid goggles hide his line of sight.

“That’s ridiculous. I would never-” He plays the clueless fool well, exhales exasperation and drags fingers back through his hair. “How can you honestly believe such an obvious lie?”

Zenyatta’s tranquil tone belies the forces behind his words. “My trust in Genji is unwavering.” Reaper says nothing, silently pleased he touched what turned out to be a nerve. The problem is that he knows how annoyingly honest Genji is and, given how close Zenyatta and his pupil are, this might make his plans a little more tricky.

Reaper weighs his options in that moment of silence, opening his mouth to speak when Zenyatta speaks without warning and throws his whole counterargument out the window. 

“He also believes that you have been less than truthful about your true identity.”

“So?” Reaper’s hand inches beneath the folds of his poncho, fingers curled into position as the familiar weight of a shotgun materializes into his grip. He’d chalked Genji’s unexpected presence at the temple as a minor inconvenience, counting on the years between Gabriel Reyes and Reaper to keep his cover. “Nothing wrong with a little anonymity.”

“Anonymity is not my concern. Rather, it is that he claims you are a former commander of Overwatch.” Zenyatta looks at him and it’s almost pitying. ”That you are the Gabriel Reyes.”

That name breaks the last of Reaper’s restraint. He throws his full weight at Zenyatta, slamming the predictably light Omnic against the stone wall It’s a stupid move, downright _reckless_ , blowing his cover in one fluid motion of forearm against metal tendons and shotgun barrel brought to rest upon Zenyatta’s chest. But he’s always been reckless and death changed nothing.

“You shouldn’t go poking around where you don’t belong tin can.” His friendly facade drops away and he feels the burning of skin flaying away beneath his scarf, filling the air with a dull droning buzz. It isn’t surprising - extreme emotions bring about an instability that would normally be hidden beneath his traditional mask. What is surprising is that Zenyatta doesn’t react with fear or, hell, even a modicum of anger. He doesn’t react at all except look at him and give a weary sigh, almost like he expected this.

“I am disappointed in you, Gabriel.”

Reaper recoils, presses the shotgun barrel harder against Zenyatta’s chest with a hard clink. “ _What_. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Although I am saddened you did not come here seeking enlightenment, I sincerely believed you had learned something from our teachings,” Zenyatta elaborates in that same slow, calm voice that not even the threat of death can dampen. “You seem to be in need of grave help.”

_Dios mio_. Reaper rolls his eyes, disarms the safety on his shotgun in a distinct show that he’s goddamn willing to blow Zenyatta’s assumptions out of his skull along with his circuits. “I don’t need help. I don’t need anything you tin can have to offer. In fact,” he grins and pulls down his scarf to reveal the exposed bones of a discolored skull, the Swarm buzzing up in smoke trail right in the Omnic’s face. “You’re the one who needs help, Master Zenyatta”.

Sarcasm drips off his words and the sudden rush of power destabilizes his form and smoke is leaking out the edges of both goggles, a sudden blur of vision telling him his eye socket are deepening out of sight. He wishes he could rip off his disguise, maximize the fear he’s sure to strike into Zenyatta’s heart and yet...nothing happens. His favorite scare tactic has no effect, not even an uneasy twitch or flickering of lights in Zenyatta’s stupid decorative lights.

“Oh, Gabriel,” Zenyatta sighs. “I knew you had...enhancements but I did not know you meant nanomachines. It is little wonder you are troubled-”

Reaper’s shotgun clatters to the floor as he slams Zenyatta against the wall, newly formed talons clawed at the steel ball and socket of the Omnic’s shoulder. “I am NOT troubled!” he roars and then shuts up as his voice reverberates through the small room. Shouting makes him sound weak, pathetic, pitiful and his own disgust is almost palatable. “I am not troubled,” he repeats, words hissed out between clenched teeth. “You don’t know the first thing about me, Omnic. You don’t know a damn thing about me so stop acting like you.”

That pitying tone is bringing out the worst in him, a damning remind how weak and human Omnics really are. Maybe Reyes would have felt more sympathetic, but Gabriel is dead and only Reaper remains. It will be a privilege to blow this place off the face of the Earth and leave it a scorched wasteland that no one will miss. It mysteries him that Zenyatta seems to genuinely care about his well being, his curiosity as to why a stranger could care the only thing holding him back from trying to reap an Omnic.

His plan has fallen apart yet here he stands, giving this bot the time of day to listen to spiritual ramblings that may have touched on his Catholic roots at one time.

“Why do you care?” he demands. “You’ve never met me. Your pupil thinks I’m going to blow your stupid monastery to ash but you think I need, what, help? Guidance from a bunch of bots that think they have souls?” A sneer pulls at his lips, sharp incisor and blackened gums exposed. “I’ll break the news to you: there’s nothing after you die. No paradise or hell - just oblivion.” His hands squeeze Zenyatta’s shoulder so tight he’s surprised he doesn’t break his fingers.

“ _Do you have any idea what that’s like?!_ ”

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, reassuring in the way fingers settle into the folds of his shirt. “I do not, but I would like to understand if I can. If you will tell me.”

For an instant Reaper actually considers it, sharing his woes. To come back from death as a new man knowing the truth had been a burden Reaper had carried, a terrible secret that had eaten away at him sure as his cell were reborn anew with each breath. His resolve wavers for an instant as he lets go of Zenyatta’s shoulder, hands slowly lowering to his side. His moment of weakness snowballs from that damning human need to connect, to be understood by another person.

“I… Goddamnit!” He smacks the hand away, jabs an accusing finger in Zenyatta’s face. “What are you playing at Omnic?” he growls. “What’s your end game?” Almost as an afterthought he pulls out a shotgun to take solace in its familiar weight and shape. A reminder he can always end this with the pull of a trigger if things get too...close.

“End game...?” Zenyatta asks, clearly puzzled by the phrase. Guess slang was slow to travel in Nepal.

Reaper drags his free hand down his face with a sigh, taking the time to redo the scarf and tuck the ends into his shirt’s collar. Now that he knows Zenyatta doesn’t fear his otherworldly nature having his face bared stirs a feeling like self-consciousness. Embarrassment for what he’s become. “What’s your ulterior motive? _What do you want_?”

“I want only to listen, Gabriel.” Zenyatta unclasps his hands, opens his arms wide in invitation. It sickens Reaper to his core, appeals to him at the very same time. “To understand.”

Reaper scoffs. “Too bad. You wouldn’t- can’t understand. No one can.”

“You cannot know for sure until you have tried.”

_Fuck_. Reaper hesitates, moes to slide the gun back to oblivion beneath his poncho. He’s got nothing to lose and regrets piled higher than this damn mountain. Surely he can just kill Zenyatta afterward if need be and let the Omnic take his human weakness to the grave. 

“I... I guess.” He rubs his temples, thinks on what he should say. “Well, for starters-”

“Master?” An unfamiliar voice sounds from behind the door accompanied by a swift knock that breaks their moment and knocks Reaper back to his senses. _Que estoy haciendo?_ , Reaper thinks with a dawning horror, and the way he raises his shotgun is automatic as he aims straight at Zenyatta’s head. He needs to salvage this situation, break this hold the Omnic has over him. It takes a simple twitch of his finger to indulge, squeezing on the trigger and emptying the entire clip with gunshots that deafen him only momentarily. Smoke trails off his elbow as bones crack, break again and again with each shuddering recoil.

He doesn’t feel it.

Reaper knows before he throws down the shotgun that he’s missed, knows that he missed _on purpose_ and it just fuels his self loathing. Zenyatta floats between a messy outline of shotgun pellets embedded into stone, arms raised and posture tense while his orbs bob erratically around his neck. He expects an attack but Reaper is done, worn down to the point of exhaustion by the whirl of emotions he’s forced upon himself.

Genji bursts into the room, sword drawn and held before him with an expert grip. “Master! Are you alright?!” Panicked, Genji looks to the Omnic then to Reaper and he swears the green light of his visor grows in strength.”How dare you,” Genji hisses, darting between Zenyatta and him in a blur of green. “How dare you attack Master Zenyatta when he, _we_ , have shown you nothing but kindness and patience!”

“Genji-” Zenyatta starts but he’s too late. Genji’s blade glows and a transparent dragon follows in the wake as the sword is spun, then thrust forward with the clear intention to kill.

“ _Ryujin no ken wo kurae!_ ”

Reaper sneers and dissolves into mist, turning solid into gas with ease. Maw agape, the dragon strikes through his shoulder- and he knows immediately that something is wrong. It might be the remnants of green wisps that cling to his mass or the uncomfortable tingle that makes holding his arm in the shape of an arm difficult that tip him off to what’s happening. That ‘magical’ dragon was merely a surge nanites modified to flay flesh from bone. Nanites that are devouring those of his own Swarm.

He surges forward and escapes into the empty corridor, careful to avoid touching the sword. Genji pursues him, dragon and blade lashing out in desperation to strike, maim, _kill_. Reaper loosens his form further, becomes a mere cloud that flies out a window and into the blizzard beyond. Genji does not follow but Reaper can see him when he solidifies in a snow drift, gazing out into the gale with hatred permeating from his stance. Reaper solidifies only when his silhouette disappears, grasping at the deep wound on his shoulder that leaves his arm dangling by a few tendons.

It takes a few shepherds’ souls to repair the damage done, their life essence used to knit muscle and bone back to what can pass for ‘healthy’. Reaper does not linger in the country for long, radios in for an extraction as soon as he’s left behind the snowy peaks although the idiotic dispatcher on the end bumbles the order and delays his evac by a damn hour. Still, it allows him time to think, and his plan of action is fully in place when the black aircraft lowers its entry ramp. It isn’t a choice he makes lightly, yet even he isn’t sure it’s the right one.

Reaper feeds Talon’s client the lie that he was unable to locate the Shambali Temple despite his best efforts and suffers Widowmaker’s small, delighted smirk after debriefing. 

“Losing your edge?” she asks and Reaper tells her to fuck off, mind her own fucking business. She utters a softly melodic laugh, wishes him well and is gone as quickly as she appeared. Her question sticks with him though, nags Reaper as he guns down targets and reaps the rewards for his ruthlessness. Something about Zenyatta made him hesitate to kill, made him not even care that he failed his mission so spectacularly. It’s only after Overwatch has initiated a Recall that he has the information he needs, writes an old fashioned letter that just reads ‘thank you’ and sends it off to Zenyatta’s last known address.

It’s closure of a sort and an action he forgets until the real fight begins, until he’s beating a hasty retreat down a side street and runs into a familiar floating Omnic. Zenyatta makes the first move, raising his hand for a wave.

“Hello Gabriel.”


End file.
